Ashes to Ashes
by SpearmintMirage
Summary: Finally a free man, Zack reflects on the past and contemplates the future.


Dawn had hardly arrived, but it was doing well to make itself known. A rosy orange glow on the horizon silhouetted the city, peeking out between the spaces separating buildings on the skyline, and bled into the dying night stretching across the sky. Lamp posts began to flicker off as their light was no longer needed in the gently waking city. The morning air was crisp, quiet, and pleasant to anyone who dared to be awake at such an hour.

And in stark contrast, from a path no one walked this early, a tall figure took in the scene, clad in bandages and a bloodstained hoodie that shadowed his wild mismatched eyes. It was such a nice soothing morning, he didn't even feel like killing anyone yet. An accomplishment, and frankly, a miracle.

Zack leaned against the railing bordering the shore, propping up his intimidating trademark weapon beside him. He had seen a few sunrises after he'd left that damn Hellhole he'd called home, but this was the first time he was seeing it from the start. It was worth a pause in his travel, and a good excuse as any to take a break from walking.

As if it was habit now, he admired his new scythe for what must have been the tenth time in two days. How could he help it? The thing was _gorgeous_ , near identical to his old one, but free of small spots of tarnish or rust. The fresh metal blade shone like sharp moonlight even in the dull morning rays. One little touch could cleanly split one of his bandages, and at full force it sliced through a spinal cord like a hot knife through butter.

Wherever the Hell that priest had ended up, he'd left a damn fine parting gift, and Zack quietly swore he would take better care of it than the last one. It had been well worth the trouble it took to get his hands on it. Playing the events out in his head again, that entire night of escape had been one of the most thrilling of his life.

Of course, she hadn't asked him about any it. All that talk about not knowing him enough, yet she hardly tried to change that once they finally had a little time.

Whatever the case, it was all behind him. What was left was the future, though the issue was figuring out what that future was supposed to look like.

Killing was inevitably in the cards, that was a fact. The fresh unfiltered air he still wasn't completely accustomed to breathing had curbed his violent urges for the moment, but his craving for homicide was and always would be stronger than any human will. It was one of the few absolutes left in his life.

He stretched his arms above his head, careful not to tear the stitches across his stomach. Well, what did people _normally_ do? After all, Gray's parting words had declared Zack as human, not a monster or a god or whatever, so other humans were the natural example to follow. But he had little chance of blending into society, even disregarding his outstanding arrest warrant. He had a bad attitude and face that, literally, not even a mother could love.

So, contributing to society was out, and he didn't care all that much. The average person was so weak and boring that the only point in interacting with them was to sate his own bloodlust. Compared to his talent and strength, what could regular people do that was so impressive anyway?

From the back of his mind a patronizing voice answered: _'Read, for one thing.'_

Digging in his jacket pockets, he retrieved a pair of folded papers. Upon reclaiming his personal effects from his prison stay, he had discovered the two documents he'd left the complex with, still in good condition. He didn't know what was written on them, sans his and Rachel's names, but he assumed they were profiles of some sort.

If he could teach himself how to count then reverse-engineering the English language wouldn't be much harder, right? It'd be annoying as Hell probably, but he'd know what the newspapers were writing about him. Or at least be able to spell his own damn name.

His attention shifted to the numbers following the names and mulled them over while playing with the edges of his paper. Twenty years old, huh? A couple more than he had expected. Age was irrelevant to his survival and career, so the number had been lost to him over the years.

Still, it was nice to know _something_ new about himself.

Back on the topic of his few interests, the only other possibility that came to mind was sewing. Now that he had a sewing kit, he decided he might as well use it. Like reading it seemed tedious, not to mention his fingers didn't do well with small precise movements, but it could save money on clothes at least, considering he had a habit of throwing out anything that needed mending.

He could put it off though. Money wasn't particularly a problem at the moment. He had acquired a decent sum while visiting the crematorium, happening to stumble upon the safe and its key while searching for the furnaces. He was fortunate that they were lacking in security, not a guard or camera in sight.

It had been the first time Zack had realized he was no longer being watched, and like every breath of fresh air it was liberating and uncomfortable all at once.

Speaking of uncomfortable, he became aware of how hard the leather strap of Rachel's bag was digging into his shoulder. Without thinking, he shrugged it off and it hit the ground with a resounding thud. He quickly knelt down to check that he hadn't broken the offending weight.

Brushing aside the sewing kit inside, he hefted a simple metal jar out. After a cursory look, he was relieved to find he hadn't cracked it. The ashes were heavier than he had first expected, but he supposed it was better than lugging a body around.

For such a small-looking girl, she had left a lot behind.

While he should probably have asked, it was technically _her_ fault for neglecting to tell him what to do with her after it was all said and done. The easiest thing to do was to leave her there for the cops or some poor jogger to find, but that didn't seem right to him. He could have buried her, but they would have found her quickly anyway with the massive puddle of red soaking into the dirt. Not to mention that he couldn't even look at a grave anymore without thinking of that little prick Eddie.

He was pretty proud of the idea he'd had to carry the body partway into the lake before exiting at a different part of the shore. If all went right, they'd be held up searching the lake for days, thinking he'd dumped her there. After all, Zack wasn't known for keeping his work a secret.

From his years darting across shadows in the town, he knew that there was a graveyard and a crematorium located by the mental institution they'd kept Rachel in. (A little disconcerting, now that he thought about it.) He'd made it there in short time by hopping through alleyways and over rooftops and found a flimsy back door waiting for him. The only real challenge had been figuring out how to start the process, but with some fiddling he figured it out.

He hadn't watched, opting to look for urns instead. Maybe that was wrong, but he had only faced his fears on those stairs because someone was distracting him. He wanted to leave as much baggage behind as he could, not counting the three and a half pounds he was now scooping back into Rachel's bag. He'd need to get a new one with all the space she took up, maybe a backpack or something. Hers was too damn girly anyway.

Zack drew his gaze across the river. He could see a person or two taking their morning jogs along the opposite riverbank and felt a faint shiver of anticipation. It was only a matter of time before he would see his reflection in a new pair of terrified eyes.

He was a simple and shortsighted man, but he never truly saw that as a flaw that attributed to his supposed lack of intelligence. There was no point in planning ahead, because nothing lasted forever. Fires burned out, bandages got replaced, money disappeared, people bit the dust. Even his seemingly never-ending bloodlust would die with his final breath, although in the scope of his life, it technically _was_ unending as he would know it.

For now, sleep was softly calling him, and he was content with using the last hour or so of his energy watching dawn arrive. It was strange, the way this new freedom gave him patience to savor the little things where he couldn't before.

Isaac Foster was in a new world, and all he had to his name were a scythe, a stack of cash, some junk, and a dead girl.

 _'_ _Good start, Zack.'_ He acridly thought to himself. _'Good fuckin' start.'_


End file.
